


For The Thrill Of It

by ninaahachikuji, ShitIdiotFool



Category: Twisted-Wonderland (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, M/M, Murder, Mutilation, Poisoning, Serial Killer Husbands, Stalking, Um yeah we did this ....., alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 04:21:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26467108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninaahachikuji/pseuds/ninaahachikuji, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShitIdiotFool/pseuds/ShitIdiotFool
Summary: Two serial killers have been circling the news lately. One fateful evening two strangers meet at a bar. Will they both make it out to the next morning?Serial Killer AU Fic for Vil & Rook
Relationships: Rook Hunt/Vil Schoenheit
Comments: 14
Kudos: 54





	1. Apple Seeds

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone SIF here, We wrote this like right before the Pomme chapters dropped so like..... you know the drill. Anyway so excited to be writing this, its a fun little project where doing so give us our time thank you <3

It takes approximately 200 ground up Apple Seeds to make a cup of cyanide. That’s 40 Apples, Vil carefully collected the seeds of 40 apples to make such a simple but deadly poison. He kept them all in a small jar, something so inconspicuous his parents wouldn’t even notice. 

Vil didn’t hate them, they never raised their hand at him. His mother was always patient with him and his father, though he couldn’t understand his son’s more feminine preferences to his appearance, rarely reprimanded him. 

Vil just wanted total control over his narrative. Growing up in a small farm town with hick parents wasn’t the backstory he wanted, nor did it work in his favor when he first started getting modeling gigs. Small ads in magazines that were always looked over, rarely any callbacks. All he wanted to do was leave for the city, start over fresh where no one knew him. His family had other plans expecting him to take care of them in their now late years and also run the family’s small business. Both those things weren’t what he wanted for himself. So he just had to get rid of them.

Grinding up the seeds was almost therapeutic to him. It felt almost like a childish science project. Something anyone could do easily on their own. Poison became a bit of a hobby for him while he was waiting for a callback. Researching everything he could about toxic plants and dangerous chemicals, what would make a deadly combination, how the body reacts, and most importantly, how to make it look like it was natural.

‘It wouldn’t be too difficult’, Vil thought as he continued to prep the dessert he was making for his parents. They were getting old anyway and his mother had recently developed difficulty breathing. He was more worried it wouldn’t take to his father, if he managed to survive or realize what was going on it could get bloody. 

Blood and gore wasn’t something he was very fond of. Vil wanted to keep his hands clean, at least in a literal sense. The sight of viscera made him sick to his stomach. This seemed like a more suitable end for them anyway. He mixed the cyanide into the Apple filling he had prepped hoping it would mask the bitter taste and smell. As he placed the crust the pie he thought about what he would do next, he had most of his stuff packed. The clothing he had bought and hidden from his parents with the money he got from whatever small gigs he could get, and skincare he hid under his bed, his father found it vain and annoying that he had cared about his appearance that much. Once the news of his parents’ death would spread he would just have to put on a show of grief, sell the farmhouse, and get on the next train out of this town. 

Easy as pie. At Least he hoped it would be. 

After it finished baking he sat down with his parents as they chatted over dinner about their boring day. He stared the pie down like it was a present he couldn’t wait to open. Drowning out any thoughts of guilt or resentment and only thinking about his future career.

“Vil? Honey?”

He glanced up hearing his mother’s voice. And making eye contact with her. “Yes, mother?”

“Are you not gonna finish your meal? You’ve barely touched your food.”

“Oh well, you know, I’m trying to watch my calorie intake.”

“I see. You know Vil, sweetie, looks aren’t everything! I think a few extra pounds won’t kill you.”

Vil held back an eye roll. He just wanted these stressful dinners to be over with. “I’m full mother, really.”

The family went silent once again. When they had finished Vil stood up and served a slice of pie to the both of them with a smile. “I worked really hard on this one. Please appreciate it.” 

Vil watched his parents eat, studying their faces to see if they would realize what he’d just done to them. His mother went quickly just a few minutes after the first few bites the death instantaneous. His father, on the other hand, lasted longer pleading with him to call an ambulance but Vil could only smile and wait as the poison began to affect him. His father fell to the ground coughing up a small amount of blood that Vil could only wrinkle his nose at. The deed was done and all he had to do now was get rid of the evidence and tuck them into bed as if nothing happened and then find them dead the next morning before calling the police.

It was five months after he had moved to the city that he committed his second murder. A fellow beginner model in his age category. One that snubbed him frequently, taking shoot opportunities right from under him and gaining the favor of photographers through less decent means. Vil would refuse these salacious meetings with directors or photographers, wanting to prove he could do this all on his own. 

One particular day this fellow model, always looking down at Vil for taking commercial projects as if he hadn’t snatched any editorial shoot that would come their way, made a snide remark about Vil’s upbringing in the countryside. It had shaken him enough to act. The secret he tried so hard to hide from the others being said so nonchalantly. He couldn’t have that.

His plan was a little more simple than the last. Moving to the city gave him new opportunities to experiment with new chemicals and poisons, almost becoming a regular hobby for him. His goal was to use a slow-acting poison on his rival at the latest launch party they were both invited to. Knowing the other model was somewhat of a party animal and did drugs, something Vil swore off of when he had first tried the week he moved to the city hating the lack of control he had when intoxicated, what was a poisoning would have easily been disguised as an overdose.

His plan went off without a problem, easily slipping a tablet he made into his drink. Not a single person even seemed to notice him or care when he passed. But that would change when he’s the top model of their group. He sat at the bar and watched as his plan unfolded over the night sipping his own drink, chatting with the people who walked up to him. 

He pretended to be shocked and scared when he heard someone rush out the bathroom in tears shouting about someone having passed out in the bathroom. Secretly delighted that his plan seemed to have worked as an ambulance wheeled off his victim.

When he receives the news of his death it also comes with the first editorial offer he’s given. An opportunity he can’t miss and one that needs to be celebrated. Despite having no one to celebrate with he decided to treat himself, getting all dressed up and going out that night to try a seasonal drink at the bar that had recently reopened. He made sure to pack a small bit of poison. Just in case he told himself, he had his urges under control but with all these “strange deaths” that have been occurring, he could never be too sure. It was to protect himself from any possible weirdos out there.

Taking his seat at the bar he flashes his ID to the bartender and orders Amaretto Sour to start and waits patiently. That’s when he notices a handsome blonde man staring at him. Something about him seemed off, but he chalked that up to his nerves. When he turned to get a better look at him the other began walking over. Vil sizes him up, it had been a long time since he had any company, maybe that’s why he allows the other to take the seat next to him. His gut feeling didn’t go away but he couldn’t help but bat his lashes at the other.

_“Bonjour.”_

Vil could only smile.


	2. Photographs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "please enjoy it! I really had fun co-writing so please read it with that in mind!!'
> 
> -ninaahachikuji

At seven he threw a rock at a bird perched on a tree, he fell so gracefully, and the feathers dyed with a crimson. The skull cracked with the pink of his brains peeking and the eye ruptured.

Beautiful things wither all the time, the blossoms bend to the chill of fall and the winter moon becomes the centerpiece of muted colors. But as quickly as it fluttered amongst the leaves it was on the ground.

It was framed by the flowers around it, he started to cry and then would not move from that spot for an hour. His parents did not come out looking for him, he spent hours at a time outside and came back at sunset dirty but with an accomplished air around him. The memory stayed in his mind forever with a dear wish to capture it truly because it would rot and only the bones would remain then those would crumble.

Rook had played a part in its life, a more direct and impactful motion just as powerful when it first hatched. He was hunched over it, eyes wide and focused on taking in the sheer loveliness of its form to the detail of its twisted neck and how he refused to move it. Surely the blood would be flowing and getting soaked up by the ground below. What once vibrant liquid that existed within the bird now returned to the earth.

He heard the adults around him talk about death in hushed whispers and even sometimes dismissing the concept altogether if he asked. This irritation made him go out into the nature surrounding the home, seeking the answers that no one would tell him.

The scene before Rook told him everything he craved to know, and the answer nestled into his mind and heart. For a time, he could take control of it, to mold to his delight and on that same occasion ceasing it. But it never did stop after the dull notes of decay showed another process which ought to have the same respect. The splendor may diminish visually but the act of returning to the ground for the still living to get used brought him a euphoric joy.

Rook sought methodologies to capture these moments, bodies were not forever but while he never forgot he yearned for a more tangible record. Becoming a young adult, his passion for the wilderness never swayed, and so strong that others who shared it were intimated by his enthusiasm. Deeper parts of the woods, lead to learning how to survive in the worst conditions but likewise away from prying glances he could unleash his creativity. Pushing his limits on the contrast—instead of just dragging out the small intestines he tried to place it in ways it could compliment the face. Making use of length to create patterns and shapes unique.

Gutting and skinning were skills he picked along the way for survival techniques but were also utilized to add artist value. Every new animal served as a canvas for the demonstration of a lifetime. Too attached to his work or too prideful—he left it be as it were to decay in its lovingly displays.

The first human he incorporated into his projects made it all click for whatever was missing and everything lacking before felt genuinely realized now. It made for more sophisticated pieces for compositions of the image—more possibility than he ever imagined. His passions hit new levels while continually growing his skills with the inimitable properties of human flesh.

His latest one was difficult, picking away at models appeared counter-productive but he was careful to pick the ones who did not seem on the map yet. Sure, enough to stick out in the crowd but not enough to be of note if they went missing right away. This one was local to him, enough so that if Rook didn’t know any better the fellow would be in the same line getting a coffee in the morning. Although the absence of someone like this would be an eventual apprehension beyond their minor circle but widespread media coverage? Maybe a mention of it on the news along with an article or two at most.

He laid peacefully in a forest floor surrounded by flowers in bloom, and Rook took the time to shift the body around before he took out the camera. A reckless lapse of judgment on Rook’s part to go all out for this shoot. The sun hit the face just right, features clean and peaceful, the flies had already started to settle by the time he put his camera away. It is a picture he wanted to recreate for some time, but it was spectacular in comparison to the conceptual stages. The photographer knew he was already cutting it close to the spot the body was in, but he picked out this spot a long ago for the evening lighting.

Getting the body was a chore, traveling was the hardest part because sometimes at the wheel he’d get ahead of himself—thinking about the subject enough his mind would wander. It was worth it, despite all the risks he took with more contact he had with the body.

The rain would come soon the wash it all always, the animals would come soon enough after that then finally what was left by the time it was discovered was barely recognizable.

His ideas had the limitations of practicality, timing, and luck. Rook wanted to push the limits but over time his work gained some recognition but of the worst kind. Others would not understand his works, the art of it was hard to grasp for the average person. Many discussed his works from the wrong angle and very few took the time to have a thoughtful discussion over it. Involving himself to correct those who spoke so feverishly with a misdirected knowledge is a bonafide confession. Although a heartfelt one, it would be enough to put him away for however long society saw fit. His parents might vouch that their son would not do such acts but given his noticeable eccentric nature, a single breath of those sympathies would not be entertained.

Rook thought one day if he was free to speak before being suppressed forever he would go on about the bodies that were 

found; the faces no longer faces but bones that had moss on them as if it were tree bark. He would surely ramble on, implicating himself better than any jury could.

And so he settled on making a pact with himself that this would be the last one now, he couldn’t afford to keep going after this. The attention to his details, the timing, and the people he chose were easy to see. He was lucky that no one had suspected him as of yet, but that luck was on its way out. If he could’ve pace himself better, he would’ve, likewise, his first mistake was taking on so many projects at once in too short of a period of time. Spacing it out might have helped in retrospect but the pictures filled up his photo album before he knew it.

When everything heated up, law enforcement was very vocal on setting aside resources to solve the crimes and the man considered what he had so far and cut his losses now, one last project to stop while he was ahead.

Artists lose themselves in their work all the time, the long nights burning away on the candle at both ends and the unbridled wish to make a new concept. While the photographer for reasons he understood didn’t sign his name to his works so to speak he still took pride.

The morbid nature of Rook’s works only served his end, self-satisfying for him and if the world wanted to discuss it mindlessly then it was nothing he cared for. It didn’t need to be in a gallery for others to sneer, it could exist without that. And in that notion, Rook was free from society’s critical nature, the person they talked about in podcasts and police reports was someone else.

His nature was defined by his actions, but those actions were ill-defined by everyone else and him being caught would not mean he would be any closer to being understood. And that was fine. Rook never had to make peace with himself, but the world wanted to make peace with what he’d done and unfortunately for the self-appointed commentators—he didn’t owe them anything.

It took a few weeks, not the few days as he originally calculated for that body to be found.

Not that he wanted it to be seen but based his expectation with this location having a consistent amount of foot traction. The scare must have made people shy away from walking in the woods even if it was in safer and more guided paths. Rook operated as he normally did, calmly going through his days and enjoying his more… non-lethal passions.

The seasons changed with Rook or at least he thought he did; when talking to clients occasionally a brief flash of a blink he saw them propped up and sufficiently exenterated. Rook prided himself on his self-control which was the only reason, outside of artistic merit he never blindly killed without thought.

His tactical hobbies never stopped him from seeking the warmth of others before, he still relished social interaction plenty with the dull itch when he saw particularly delightful features. The only despairing fact is that the man couldn’t express to them what made his stares linger ever so slightly. 

That is why Rook knew he was making a damning mistake this time, talking to this beautiful man on such a night with perfect weather. Intoxicated with just the sight of the stranger’s side profile and even how he sat while waiting for a drink. The other’s eyes seemed as if aglow in the dim lights of the bar, and that energy all in compassing simply. Stately in the way he turned to look at the man who was staring through the window before making his way towards the model.

“Bonjour,” Rook greeted, taking a seat next to him, “Can I have the honor to share a drink with you this evening?”


	3. Wine And Dine

Nothing could be a more enveloping sight than the person sipping away at their drink, in his eagerness to be in the other’s presence he didn’t even consider the possibility that he would be turned down. If the smile was honest and slightly tilted his head in an engaging manner, was anything to go by he wasn’t turned off by his presence.

When the bartender returned with the drink Vil ordered he slid his ID over too before ordering his own drink. 

“I’ll have a brandy.” 

When he isn’t told off immediately by the beautiful man he takes the seat next to him. 

“Drinking alone? Someone as handsome as you?”

Vil chuckled at the comment. Holding his glass out to the other when he receives his drink. 

“I’m celebrating.”

“Oh! And to what are we toasting?” Rook clinks their glasses together. 

“My latest modeling opportunity.” Vil smiles over at the other and takes a sip of his drink before calmly placing the glass down all his movements seeming perfectly performed.

“Oh, a model? I haven’t seen you around before, I’m Rook, Rook Hunt, I do photography myself.”

“Vil Schönheit.”

"Beautiful name, are you from around here?" he inquires, swishing the drink in his cup and the ice cubes clink against the glass. He looked the part of the scene but very often this area was the place to go if you wanted any chance to do something with big names and large-scale productions. 

“Of course.” Vil replied, small talk was all too common in places like these but it made it frustratingly easy. “And you?”

“I grew up not too far from here but I’ve moved here for work and I’ve loved it here ever since.” which wasn’t a lie. 

“Have I seen your work?” sipping his drink, people talk if you give them reason too, this man was very relaxed and a little chatty even. 

“ _ Mon cher _ , would it be rude to say I would love to see you in it? But you might have recently since I’ve been busy these few weeks.” he takes a sip of his own drink and continues, “My work speaks well enough on its own. I think we would have eventually if it weren’t for this lovely encounter.”

“Oh?” Vil leans further against the table, resting his cheek against his hand and taking another sip. “If you’re as established as you claim to be, I’d love to see your work.” He gave him a sly wink, reaching into his and handing him a business card.

“By all means view it to your heart's content. If you think we could make something great together I very much agree. We could further discuss this in a place more personal, while this bar is a wonderful setting and the lighting is doing you wonders, maybe we could finish this conversation at your place?”

Vil thought about the murders recently and how any other model recently kept themselves weary of one night stands considering recent news. Being a photographer added up or at least they have some work in the industry but that being considered and being targeted because he was beautiful didn’t feel like a compliment. He didn’t plan to  _ just _ be a model; he had bigger goals than that and wanted to go into acting as well. 

“You’re very sensitive to the atmosphere aren't you?” Vil knew he had two choices: take him back to his apartment and be prepared to kill or be killed or say no; get out of this and run the risk of getting stalked home. Any choice that began with the possibility of taking someone out made the other risks fall short. “Are you still good to drive?”

“Will I be driving far?” that spark in his gaze became fiercer, his body language stiffens ever so slightly in anticipation of something.

“It’s still in the neighborhood, if that’s your concern.”

“Non, non! City driving is much easier than dirt roads.” he calls for the waiter to bring the tab and slides his card in the clip. He continues to chatter while he waits for Vil to collect his things, he double checks to make sure everything he would need is in the small bag he carried with him. 

“I suppose you drive on dirt roads often?” Vil asked jokingly.

“I use to do a lot of nature photography, I’ve been around the country and even to other continents back then, but I’ve switched to fashion, you could say I have an affinity for things that are beautiful.” Rook stands up and holds a hand out for Vil. When Vil takes it he places a kiss to the back of his hand. “And you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in a long time” he gives another wink.

Vil does his best not to roll his eyes at that. Men like this are always saying whatever they can to get into a model's pants. He forces a smile as he follows Rook to his car. He’s chatty the whole ride there about a lot things, rather random in hindsight. Vil summarizes it in his head that he can stay on a topic for ages but never make a point and when he does it quickly flows indiscriminately to another . He almost tunes him out if not for the additions to conversation he can squeeze in or when directing him to his place. The model see’s his hands grip the wheel at times and Vil almost tenses up when he asks politely “Where do I park?”

“This street coming up, the parking lot is all reserved spots anyhow.” he keeps the light conversation going all the way to the door, careful to avoid having his back turned to him completely, always maintaining an angle between them that keeps the body language open.

“I see your taste doesn’t end with your clothes. It’s very distinctly you, Vil. Even down to the curtains.” Rook pours another compliment on him, if he was a cup he’d run over by now. Vil locks the door behind him keeping his bag close, he seems calm enough in a stranger’s home. Their coats sat on the same coat hanger and Rook sat without a care on the stranger’s couch. The coffee table had a vase that had recently been emptied, washed, and pristine, it made the guest think of more indecent things. 

“All I have is wine.” Vil informed him.

“Oui, Then we drink wine.” Rook gave a light tap to the vase. 

Vil’s face betrayed the agreeable tone, turned away from him pouring into wine glasses what he adds to is tasteless but fast acting. It would give him enough time for the man to pass out, tie him down and figure out what he could really do. If this was the man causing so much fear, he shouldn’t feel bad to play with him before death--it was exactly karmic justice. So justified in his actions, the smile he flashed his only guest was real and vibrant. 

His only mistake was taking him at face value but it was the worst mistake to make, and like the people before him he’ll learn his lesson. 

They clinked glasses, both drank and Vil continued the conversation, “What makes me stand out from all the other model’s you’ve worked with?”

For the first time that night, he pauses to think about his next words looking Vil over critically “If I started at your features I would be doing you a disservice, the air around you or better yet watching you move is a delight. The way your lips touch a glass, or how you hold your keys and even the way you smiled handling my drink. I think--non, I  _ know _ with you I would make my life work my magnu..um.” His focus is broken and he blinks, a few good times. “O-opus...and..I? Oh, I think I’ve lost my train of thought.”

Vil leaned in, legs crossed “It’s fine, we’ve got all night to continue.”

“Yes of course” Rook cleared his throat trying to remember what he was going to say. The smirk he receives from Vil sends an almost delightful shiver down his spine but he’s unable to figure out why. “I just think what you have to offer is yourself, which that on its own speaks to a higher...h-how do you say..?” 

“How do I say what?”

His guest opened his mouth and closed it again, this time the words fell short of tangible sounds when he slumped sideways on the couch. He worked fast making his way over to the man and his face still flushed from the wine. His first attempts at lifting him up were rough but after getting a good grip laid him on the floor, careful not to hurt him yet. He still wanted him to wake up. 

He quickly fished out some rope from his closet only to find it tangled and Vil sucks his teeth in annoyance. He had used it before for something and forgot to make sure he stored it properly, he noted the time on his phone and knew he had time to deal with this. His heart beating a little faster now, Rook’s unconscious presence tripping up his attention but kept a calm head outside. He thought the knife in the kitchen was the only thing that could cut through this one section. Estimating there would be plenty left over to keep his victim in place for now.

He went back to the kitchen taking the rope with him and grabbing the knife with a sigh. Rook would be fine in the living room for now, maybe move him to another room if he became too much of a hassle. 

Vil went back to see the space empty, dread overcame him and his breathing felt like it echoed throughout his apartment. Also it wasn’t big but there were places someone would hide if they knew where to go. He had the rope in his hands but the knife was placed back in the stand. However, if Rook was able to get up and move without so much as a sound gives him a clue. He had no time to really think back to what he knew as much as what he could do. Taking the risk Vil hesitantly reentered the kitchen for the sharp tool. Vil kept the object close to him going over every corner until the other end of the layout where his bedroom was. Making it the last two rooms he hadn’t cleared out if he didn’t manage to sneak away and end up behind him. 

He wiped the sweat from his brow, suddenly swinging his bedroom door open and turning the light on.

Empty. 

The bathroom, the same. 

Vil once again took note of his options again tonight, he woke up and ran out somehow--he got the wrong person who realised they almost got killed and escaped. That now meant they would go to the cops, he’d to expect them at his door and his past clawing up from the grave. The thought could’ve made his hair go white. Or leaving frightened; never planning to tell anyone out of embarrassment and shame from this encounter. He ran back out the hallway seeing him sitting at the couch camly looking through one of the magazines from the shelf. 

“Small world, I know the editor for this magazine. Aren’t they a joy to work with? A little on the pushy side--”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Rook is still carrying that smile on his face when he gets up from his spot, Vil backs up desperately trying to keep the gap between them. “Back the fuck up or I’ll stab you!” even keeping his voice down was failing, if it were not for the fact he did practice his lines out loud his neighbors would have caught on. The man continued on closing that space until the knife was a swift forward motion from being buried into Rook’s chest.

In a blink Rook’s hands are on the other’s, it’s an intense moment of eye contact when he speaks, “You’ve won my heart! Feel free to stab it, cut it out! If you are so inclined please preserve it as well.”

Vil licks his lips, unmoving but unsure to feel fear or pity that the man before him was so gone he had thought he was trying to make a romantic gesture at it. “... I don’t-t understand.”

“The most beautiful things are those that wither, Vil. All my life I’ve chased the beauty in death and to finally have a taste of it from you--”

“Stop with the poetry!  _ What _ are you going on about!?” Vil snapped at him with annoyance adding into the fear.

“ _ You _ .  _ Mon Amour _ , you’ve given me what no one else can. And my heart beats for you and if you do not wish for it you have every right to cease that action.”

It starts to settle in now in a way what he may have been trying to convey and Vil did just give him a near death experience. From Rook’s point of view, he could’ve died just like that from drinking some wine offered to him. If he got a sexual rise from it then this makes sense but...Rook didn’t know if he was going to kill him.

“You’re the one the news goes on about, right? Using dead people for your pet projects.Disgusting.”

The smile dropped off his face for the briefest of time and glanced down at his still stab wound free chest before it returned. “Yes, but fate has tied us together now. If you wanted me dead you’d have killed me while I was unconscious. I’m still clothed and nothing on my person is missing or disturbed. What did  _ you _ plan to do to  _ me _ ?”

Vil’s grip tightens on the rope. What  _ was _ he going to do? He’s never been one to get messy, so what was it about Rook that made him want to break his clean kill rule. He thought for a moment before opening his mouth. 

“I wanted to give you a taste of your own medicine.”

Rook seemed to beam at that. “You don’t seem like the type to get your hands dirty, how surprising! But seeing that you still haven’t stabbed me I wonder if you really have it in you to do such a thing.” He closes the gap between him and the taller man grabbing the wrist that held the knife and pushing it away. “Perhaps you had taken an interest in me?”

Vil pulls away with a disgusted look on his face. “To be honest... beyond killing you? Not really.”

“It’s an interest all the same,  _ Mon trésor _ .”

The grimace he made to these words of affection must have gotten something across then when his guest’s mood faltered. “I’m not dead on the floor, you won’t take my life and I won't take yours...but I’m afraid I can’t live without you now.”

“Flattering.” The model responded sarcastically, he also had little to no idea how erratic he could be. He was still a perfect stranger and worse: a stranger in his home. He knew now where he lived. This was somewhat working in Vil’s favor and he began to really think about how this could work out.

If Rook was so in ‘love’ with him, he wouldn’t go to the authorities since he was a killer too. Vil seized his moment to test the waters seeing how far this loyalty could save him time to figure out how to deal with him.

“What if I didn’t want you in my life, Rook?” 

The reply was damningly blunt from the photographer, “I would kill you and then myself.”

Vil stiffened back up not really expecting a murder suicide but hearing about what Rook’s done to bodies that would be light work for him. 

“So you’re giving me no choice?”

Rook chuckled. “Well I am! You could either kill me now! Or I could kill us both! Or we could form a connection the likes of which has not yet been seen!”

Vil gritted his teeth, the man in front of him was way more over the top than he had expected of a killer like him. Outgoing and loud. But he could be useful to Vil in a number of ways. Since he had connections Vil could have him put a foot in the door. Never said he had to work with him and that made him think back to the comment in the bar. The implication fully dawned on what he meant. He dodged that bullet at least and was still trying to find out when the other one would come flying his way. 

He did still have work that didn’t involve mutilation, it would be a good boost in a town like this and if he had other contacts beyond that were even better. “So you’re promising your life to me? You’ll be at my beck and call?”

“Mhm.” the blond kissed his hand with the same look from the bar, “I’ll do everything in my power. No matter the request.”

“Rook, it’s been a long night so please go home. I’ll give you my number so you can tell me when you want to come over or work together.” he pulls back his and Rook takes out his phone quickly to pull up the contact list to let the other put in his info.

“It has been an emotional night for the both of us hasn’t it? I have some projects coming up but I’ll make time for you.”

His cheery disposition scares him more than the idea he could be dead in a field somewhere. “Oh, I don’t doubt you will.” 

The man lets himself out, and for some time Vil plops himself on his couch staring at the ceiling still holding the rope. The plan was to kill him but now he wasn’t sure even if killing him would do anything now. He would lose more than gain but then Rook had everything he wanted which would be considerably disturbing. There would be no justice in that but knowing now he would have his number did help things somewhat. 

His phone went off, tired eyes reflected the number with no contact but after the first line he knew who this was;

“Please rest easy. I’m so glad that I met you. I love you.”

He rolled his eyes again with a defeated sigh drop and put the rope back before going to bed for a rough night’s sleep.

\-------

The morning text came unsurprisingly early, really simple just a “Good Morning! Did you sleep well?” he was very tempted to leave him on read, if this was someone who somehow got his number he would have blocked them.

Vil at least could just reply for now so he doesn’t bother him more from lack of response.

“I did. Thank you.”

He didn’t reply right away which was less of a blessing and more of a worry. If Rook was obsessed with him, he should expect a reply right away. Well, his assumption of the type of person who committed those crimes was already off so to expect his patterns being able to discern easily. He also did have a day job and a successful one at that so he might even expect to see him at him in passing. 

Vil continued his morning routine, as usual, picking out his clothes for the day and performing his normal beauty routine. Everything went normally until he left his room, the previously empty vase in the living room was now full with a beautiful bouquet. Vil felt his eye twitch. He noticed the letter right next to the offending flowers picking it up and reading over it. 

‘  _ Dearest Vil, _

_ I didn’t want to wake you so early so I picked the lock and left these for you. I’ll have your key duplicated another time. I also left a lunch for you on your kitchen counter.  _

_ Yours Devotedly and Lovingly, Rook’  _

Vil gagged slightly. Not only was this crazy killer obsessed with him but apparently he’s a good lock picker too. Vil checked the kitchen next; sure enough there was a nicely packed bento box for him. He examined the contents, unsure if he should be impressed or disturbed that it fit into his diet and calorie counts. He wasn’t sure what would be more nerve wracking, Rook guessing his diet in just a day of knowing him, or the possibility that he was being followed for a lot longer. 

Making the duplicate key raised some other worries of which his landlord would wonder why some man was coming in at odd hours with a key if Vil was the only one on the lease. 

Vil let out a sigh deciding it was something he’d have to discuss with the other .  He can’t have rumors spreading just yet .  He wanted to build a name solely for himself before anyone starts to claim he only got so far through Rook alone. He could make this something that happened organically meeting through work and it would also work for the romantic he makes himself out to be. Natural enough because of the similar circles they worked in and Vil’s reputation for being a sought after model that people would want to work with. If his stalker was ready to take them both out, sensing that they were meant to be and Vil was actively stopping that, well he knew that this would be a good idea to tell him.

The model also couldn’t imagine a scenario where he wouldn’t go along with it. Since he had power over the other, that his conviction of love played into. His attention was brought back to the food and how it represented so much but also meant so little because it was just food. It was a representation of his love and if circumstances were different he would be grateful for this act of kindness but instead threw it out. If anyone would know about people putting things in your food it’s him, and he can’t take that kind of risk. He also didn’t trust that he didn’t have a change of heart and planned to beat him at his own game. 

Vil grabbed his keys and headed out to his next job.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
